Page 107 of Frozen Heart
I’m maneuvering through yet another intersection, while running yet another red light, when a notification pops up on my phone. A single ping. A text message.
I grab the phone; its weight in my palm feels like an acid burn on my skin. As soon as my eyes land on the screen, the written words send me into sheer terror. Panic rises within me, clawing at every part of my body as if it’s a wild animal tearing at my flesh.
16:13 Unknown:
You lost what you never dared to claim
Spare me the blame for this nameless game
I tried to warn you, you chose not to listen
Now witness the fear thicken and glisten
You ignored the truth, but I’ll force you to see
There’s another way for you to be
Come alone or lose her twice
Either way, you pay the price.
Below the rhyme is a set of GPS coordinates, and a location pin overlaid on the map.
That red marker blazes like a bright drop of blood on the outskirts of the city. An area I haven’t been to in some years, but am familiar with all the same. It’s been about a decade, yet I recognize the indicated location as the abandoned gravel pit where I found Barty with a shotgun shoved under his chin.
While I’m trying to process the significance of the location, my phone lights up with an incoming call. Theo’s name flashes across the screen.
“Sir. It appears your wife voluntarily left with the doctor she was speaking to earlier,” he says. “They were spotted on the security camera as they entered the freight elevator.”
“ID?” I growl. The ability to form a full sentence has left me.
“Only a visual at this point, sir. I’m forwarding it to you now.”
Finally! Finally, I’ll see the face of the shitstain who’s been fucking with me all this time. The man who threatened my wife and has now kidnapped her.
A dead man walking.
But when the image arrives, it’s as if I’m the one who has received a deadly blow. It takes me several heartbeats to comprehend what I’m seeing.
A picture of a very familiar face. Belonging to the only man I dared to consider a friend.
And he’s smiling boldly straight into the camera.
“I sincerely apologize for causing you any discomfort. Unfortunately, it was necessary.”
I thrash left, then right, trying to loosen the straps around my wrists. The binds are not particularly tight, and neither arethose around my ankles or chest, but they stay in place even when I continue jerking around.
Bartholomew tsks. That disturbingly kind, considerate smile remains on his face as he wraps a soft blanket around my shoulders and tucks it under my chin. I lean back, as far away from him as my current position allows. Which means no more than a mere few inches, considering I’m tied to a vintage cushioned chair that seems as far out of place in this derelict trailer as the man pretending to care for me.
I jerk again when he tries to pat me on the shoulder.
“Please, stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Gow to hahl,” I mumble around the gag in my mouth.
“I probably will. And shortly.” The older man winks at me. “Are you feeling alright? The dizziness should have passed by now. Let me get you some herbal tea.”
I watch as he crosses to the other side of the crumbling space and crouches by a large duffel bag near the far wall. When I came to about twenty minutes ago, I found myself tied to the ornate Victorian-style chair, positioned in the middle of a long but narrow room, in what seems to be an abandoned mobile office.
